


A Lesson in Healing

by Ode_to_ships



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Healing, Love, Pack, Sexual Content, Stydia, explicit - Freeform, friendships, happiness and feels, i just really want them to deal with their issues, in which stiles, it's important, relationships, scott and lydia learn how to deal with their trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8516773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ode_to_ships/pseuds/Ode_to_ships
Summary: Told from Stiles' point of view, Stiles, Scott, and Lydia learn what it means to lean on each other and their families. Also Stydia.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay okay. I wrote this because I feel like we needed some healing time. It's set after season 6a. Again, I don't have anyone to read it for me, so it might be a little whacked out. But it just feels really important to me that these characters deal with some of this stuff. Hope you guys like it!

He’s tired. So tired. This word has become such an intrinsic part of his vocabulary it’s losing meaning. When he says he’s tired, it really means he’s just existing. It’s his resting state. It never changes.

He’s laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. His bed doesn’t feel like his bed. And it’s not that his home doesn't feel like his home; he recognizes the smells and the sounds, and how around 2:30 every morning, his dad snores exceptionally loudly for about 20 minutes; it’s that he’s been in a state of hypervigilence since he was 16 years old, and now he’s 18. Two years doesn’t seem like an incredible amount of time, but it is when you’re constantly fearing for your life. Eating breakfast? Fearing for his life. Playing video games? Fearing for his life. Showering? Pretty sure something is going to come up the drain and swallow him, so fearing for his life. 

But it isn't just his life, it’s the man down the hall, who has started snoring. It’s the kid exactly five blocks down dreaming of the kitsune they all miss, and his mom who has become his surrogate mother. It’s the werecoyote living in her childhood home, and not with him anymore, though he thinks that’s probably for the best. It’s the beta who’s probably running through the woods with his girlfriend like the teenage idiots that they are, and his best friend who reminds him of himself oddly. Yes, he is aware that he is also a teenager, and that’s not the point. It’s the girl far away in a desert trying to gain control over her Fox. 

But most especially, it’s the banshee 2 miles away with strawberry blonde hair that forced everyone to remember him. The girl that came for him when he was certain no one would. When he’s laying in bed fearing for his pack, she comes to mind more than the others. He could list off all the reasons that she's at the forefront, even before his own life, but he's done it so much and he doesn’t want that to lose meaning, ever. 

The point of this whole mental tangent is that he cannot find solace in his bed because he’s always suffocating under all the weight of their lives in here.

He was possessed in here.  
He dealt with Donavan’s death in here.  
He planned Lydia’s rescue in here.  
He cried over Lydia in here.  
He was forgotten by his father.  
His room didn't even exist.

See the problem? But he wants to repeat this list because he keeps hoping it'll lose meaning. It doesn’t. It just keeps hurting. 

He wants to be two miles down in another bed, curled around a strawberry blonde banshee by the name of Lydia Martin because Lydia Martin feels like home. 

His phone goes off, and he jerks up so fast turning his head, that his neck twinges. 

“Motherfuck….” He whispers to the darkness because his dad may snore louder than a train, but his hearing is super sonic. He picks up his phone, and feels a lightness start to spread.

From: Lydia Martin  
This is silly, and ridiculous, but I just needed to check in. I know you aren't sleeping.

To: Lydia Martin  
I’m here. I’m fine. Dad’s snoring something fierce so I couldn’t possibly fall asleep. I think he's beating out your screams.

From: Lydia Martin  
I’m annoyed to be relieved that you haven't lost your flair for over exaggeration.

To: Lydia Martin  
Only the best for you.

From: Lydia Martin  
You are.

His heart skips a beat as it always seems to when she softens up for him. It’s never over the top, and she certainly doesn’t verbalize in the same way he does, though his propensity for verbalizing how he feels about her has shot way down. He makes it clear in other ways. 

To: Lydia Martin  
You’re making me blush Martin. 

From: Lydia Martin  
Only the best for you.

To: Lydia Martin  
You really, really are…

From: Lydia Martin  
Go to sleep Stiles. I’ll see you tomorrow. 

To: Lydia Martin  
Night. See you tomorrow.

He thinks about sending an “I love you”, but quickly dismisses the thought, not because he doesn’t want to, more so because he wants to say it to her again in person. He wants to repeat it like a mantra in her ear. 

So he doesn’t send an “I love you”, and she doesn’t send one either, but he falls asleep and doesn’t dream the rest of the night.

\-----------------

It’s been two weeks since Stiles was rescued. Again. And Scott hasn't stopped staring at him. Every time they’re together, he can feel Scott’s eyes tracking his movements. It’s starting to get to him a little bit because what's he going to do? Disappear? Haha, wait he’s already done that. 

He doesn’t say anything to Scott.

Then Scott tries to follow him into the shower after they finish a particularly long run of video gaming, and Stiles can’t hold it in anymore. I mean his shirt is off for God’s sake, but Scott doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Dude.” He stops abruptly causing Scott to run into his back.

“What?” Scott asks, like he's coming out of a day dream. Stiles turns to face him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Stiles almost wants to laugh, but he doesn’t.

“Uh… I have to pee?” Stiles does laugh at that, a quick huff of air.

“Wrong. Try again.” He quirks his eyebrow, and Scott deflates a bit.

“Okay I’m sorry. But dude we just found you, and beyond that we just started to remember you again. I just… I dunno I feel like I have to keep an eye on you all the time when I’m with you because what if it happens again? And I miss it? And then you're gone? And I did nothing about it because I wasn't watching you close enough? Stiles I don’t want to do that again, I don’t think I can do that again. It’s too much…” Scotts rambling, and Stiles is surprised because normally he’s the rambler and Scott has to bring him back down to Earth.

“Scott! Hey! Stop.” Stiles half shouts. Scott immediately stops. “Dude, you have to stop blaming yourself.”

“How?”

Stiles sighs. That's the million dollar question. “I don’t know, man. I don’t know if we can ever really stop blaming ourselves for how fucked up things are. But if it helps, I don’t blame you.”

Scott nods. It’s enough. For now. 

 

\-------------------

 

Stiles doesn’t generally wake up screaming anymore. The nightmares don’t stop, they haven't stopped since Void, but he doesn’t scream anymore. He likes to think it’s progress, but deep inside his chest somewhere, he knows it’s not. He knows that he isn't healing, not in a way that he wants to. 

He wants to wake up and feel vibrant. He wants to be excited about the smell of pancakes again. He wants to feel the sun on his face without an ounce of dread filling his stomach like poison. He wants to roll over on Sunday mornings and go back to sleep. He wants so many things that he can't have. 

He wants to stop having to ignore Scott quietly crying in the middle of the night when they have pack sleepovers. He had tried to comfort him once, but was met with rapid and forced “I’m okays.” And when he had pressed further, Scott had just turned the conversation back around towards Stiles. And though Stiles has never actually talked about what he’s been through, what they’ve all been through, Scott hasn't either. To Stiles there is no one who deserves to heal more than Scott McCall. He just has no idea how to give that to Scott. 

He wants so many things that he can’t have. 

He's pretty sure he's numb because as terrifying as the nightmares are, they don’t phase him anymore when he wakes up from them. It’s a really quick rush of air into his lungs, before he settles and he lays there. He doesn’t cry. 

So tonight when he wakes up, he isn't expecting it to be any different. Quick rush of air, and he sits up this time because his neck hurts, and his shoulders. He must’ve been tense throughout the night. 

Then he feels a hand on his back. He jumps slightly. “Stiles?”

The panic starts to set in just a little because he's had this dream before, and he's also really pissed off because now he's associating Lydia with something horrible. Fuck evil fox spirits. Fuck Beacon Hills. Fuck himself for being as weak as he is. 

“Stiles what is it? What’s going on?” Word for word they spill out of her mouth.

“No. No, no, no. Dammit.” He groans. He gets up from the bed, and he's waiting. He’s waiting for her to say “don’t go in there!”. She doesn't. 

“Stiles what’s going on? Talk to me please?” Her voice is soft, but there is an authority to it and he knows he has to answer. 

“I’ve had this dream before, and I swear to God if I walk through that door and the Nemeton is there, I’m going to suffocate myself with my pillow when I eventually wake up.” He says in a rush of breath. Even months later, he stills can’t breathe right when it comes to facing what happened.

“Stiles this isn't a dream. There’s no Nemeton through your door. You’re here with me. So come back to me.” She’s sitting up on her knees, his blankets strewn about her waist. There’s a concern in her eyes that shatters him a little bit because he’s tired of making everyone worry. 

“Why are you here then?” He asks quietly.

“Because you needed me, and I needed you. And we both need sleep. Now come here.” She says, louder and firmer this time. 

He walks over to her because how can he say no when her hair is rumpled, and she’s wearing his favorite flannel, and her underwear. He’s painfully aware of that last fact. Sue him. He’s 18 and still a teenage boy who’s in love with the girl in his bed. And if that’s the only semblance of normal he’s going to get in this life, he’ll take being entranced by Lydia Martin any day.  
She’s holding her hand out, and he takes it gently. 

He breathes. She’s real. This isn't a dream. Lydia is in his bed. She’s here with him.

“Oh fuck, Lydia… I’m.. I can’t keep doing this…” he climbs into his bed, and they lay down. His head is on her chest listening to her heart beat out his favorite song, her arms are around him, and her fingers are in his hair. 

She doesn’t say anything so he continues. “I keep wondering when I’ll stop being afraid of myself. I can’t come up with a time. I can’t see a future where I’m not afraid of who I am, of what I’ve done, who I’ve been. I have this delusion of healing, of being okay. It’s so fucked that all I want is for all us to just reach okay. How do we reach okay, Lydia?” There’s no tears. He isn't sad. He’s numb.

“I don’t know. I wish I did. But you aren't scary, Stiles. You never were.” She murmurs into his hair.

“Lydia I’ve killed people. I’ve let bad things happen to all the people that I care about. I’ve caused a lot of pain. And what about Scott? And you? And the pack, and all the things that we’ve all been through? Fuck, how are we going to get through this?” He’s expecting an I don’t know because that’s what everyone says. 

“You are not solely responsible for what has happened. You have not been the catalyst to the events that unfolded in our lives. You got swept up just like everyone else, Stiles. We will get through this. We will heal.” She says it with such conviction that he believes her. 

For the first time in a long time, the numb feeling edges away from his heart.

\--------------

It’s a Tuesday afternoon and it’s raining. Stiles hates the rain. He likes the excuse it gives him to nap, but he hates the rain. The jeep always has issues when it rains. There's a slight leak that comes in through the roof in the bathroom so you can never actually turn off the dripping water. 

And the pizza he and Scott are waiting for takes an exceptionally long time because pizza delivery boys can’t drive properly in the rain, apparently. 

“Stiles it’s only been like 10 minutes.” He hears Scott say from behind where he’s perched looking out the window while Scott sets up the X-Box.

“Did I say that out loud, or have you somehow developed mind reading abilities?” He asks with his face pressed against the window.

“Mind reading abilities.” 

He whirls around, “Are you serious?” Scott just looks at him. “Not funny, dude. If you had that would mean I’d have to stop mentally cursing you out when we play video games. And chess is definitely out the window. Plus the whole montage of Lydia.”

“You don’t mentally curse me out, you do that out loud just fine. We have never actually played chess. And you have not seen Lydia naked.” Scott looks pleased with himself.

“Why do you have to make things so difficult? And not what I meant, but yes I have. Sophomore year. Boom.” Now Stiles is the pleased one. Scott just rolls his eyes. 

“Are we playing or not?” Scott huffs out as he falls into the couch in the Stilinski living room. 

“We are most definitely playing. Prepare to have your wolfy ass beaten.” He says as he plops down next to Scott.

“You couldn't beat me when I was human, and you won’t beat me now.” Scott mocks. 

“Okay one, you’re still a human, you just have an alter ego. And two, you’re probably right.” Stiles pouts. 

They sit in silence for a minute before Scott breaks it.

“I don’t always feel human.”

Stiles cringes because he definitely gets what Scott means. But Stiles is actually a human, and Scott does in fact have an alter ego. 

"I know buddy. But you are. Sometimes I think you’re the most human of all of us. And even still, definitely the best of all of us.” He says it quietly, and they don’t look at each other. 

“I feel like I have no room to mess up, because every time I do, someone gets hurt. I feel like being a True Alpha means that I have to be able to solve all the problems. I don’t feel like a human because I don’t feel like I get to be one.”

Stiles looks up at this. He’s startled to hear this because he’s never once doubted Scott’s humanity. There’s never been a moment where he’s looked at Scott and thought that he was anything other than the goofy kid with the hair falling in his eyes, eating crackers in the sandbox that he met all those years ago. 

“Scott….” He wants to say so many things, but he doesn’t know where to start. How do you convince someone of their humanity when you aren't even sure of your own? 

“It’s okay. I’m okay. I just needed to say it. Just once, you know?” He can’t meet Stiles’ eyes.

“Okay… But you are. You’re human and you have a right to be one. You’re going to mess up, and that right there is proof that you are in fact human. You don’t have to save everyone, but the fact that you want to speaks volumes.”

Scott nods, wipes a tear that Stiles pretends not see. They play video games and wait for the pizza, and Stiles is hoping that maybe Scott really heard him. 

\---------------

There’s absolutely nothing like the feeling of Lydia’s lips against his. 

They're in his jeep, and she’s got her legs on either side of his hips, her hands in his hair, her lips on his, her tongue in his mouth, and she’s moving her hips like sin. He can feel her everywhere. 

His hands are on her thighs, his thumbs rubbing circles on her skin that feels like velvet, and he wants to drown. He wants to drown in her. 

"Stiles..." She whispers, and it’s heady because it’s desperate. 

“Tell me what to do.” He knows she needs him to touch her, but he wants her to tell him. He wants to hear the words coming from her perfect, pretty mouth. 

"Touch me, please." She moans into his mouth.

“Where? Tell me where Lydia.” She bites his lip, and sighs out an ‘everywhere’. 

He runs his hands up and down her thighs a few times before he settles them on her hips. He ghosts his finger tips up her ribcage, counting each rib he touches, settles his hands right underneath the wire of her bra. He moves his hands around to her back where the clasp for her bra is, and tightens his grip so she shifts forward just a bit. It causes her hips to move forward, which results in her rubbing against his dick in just the right way.

He moans. She smirks.

He runs a finger tip up and down her spine 3 times, before he undoes her bra clasp. She leans back to remove her bra from under her shirt in the really sexy way most girls do. Once the article of clothing is somewhere in his back seat, she leans forward and runs her tongue along his bottom lip. He freezes because holy shit. She grabs his wrists and brings his hands back to the front of her ribcage.

“Touch me..” And then she's licking into his mouth, and putting his hands on her breasts, and he wants to die, but not really because jesus fucking christ. 

She starts moving her hips again in time to how he's rubbing his thumbs against her nipples. He scratches his nails against them, and she grinds down into his lap.

“Ah Lydia.. Shit..” And he can’t take it anymore. His ability to hold back to torture her has dissipated completely because he’s going to come in his pants soon, and he’ll be damned if Lydia isn’t coming right along with him. 

He wraps one arm around her waist holding her in place. He uses his other hand to ruck up her skirt, and then to move her panties aside, and then he’s two fingers deep in her.

“Lift your shirt up.” He pants. She does, and he runs his tongue over her left nipple nice and slow, matching the pace of his fingers pumping in and out of her. She’s trying to ride his hand, but his right arm is holding her firmly so that she can’t. She’s trying though. 

“Faster, please, faster.” And because he can’t deny her anything, he starts to suck on her nipple nice and hard, and his fingers move faster in and out of her. He can hear how wet she is, can feel it around his fingers.

“I wanna taste you, wanna taste you so badly, Lydia.” he murmurs against her skin, pushing his thumb against her clit. She jerks against him, pulling his hair in a blissfully painful way.

“Yes. Oh god yes, anything you want.” 

He adds a third finger, pumping them harder. His thumb is moving in circles around her clit, his tongue moving in circles around her right nipple now. She’s got one hand gripping his hair, and the other is fisting his shirt so hard that if he wasn't wearing it, he’s pretty sure he would have scratches on his back. He feels her clenching around him, and he wants to watch her fall apart, so he pulls away from her breasts, crooks his fingers just right, and pushes against her clit.

She comes with a moan that reverberates throughout his jeep, and he feels the vibration throughout his body. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her mouth is open, her chest heaving. He works her through it with gentle strokes, and she slowly releases the grip on his hair and shirt. Her eyes open, and they're glassy and her gaze is far away. 

“Goddamn Lydia…” he groans because he’s still hard, and watching her come apart was the hottest thing he's ever experienced, just short of having his fingers inside her. Speaking of..

He pulls his fingers out of her gently because he knows she's sensitive. She whimpers slightly at the loss, and then full on moans at the sight of him licking her come off his fingers. 

“I told you I wanted to taste you.”

“What's the verdict?”

“Intoxicating.” Her eyes take on a mischievous glint, and he knows he's in trouble. Somehow his dick gets harder.

“Get in the back of the jeep.” It isn't a question, or a suggestion. It’s a demand.

She moves over to the passenger side, and lets him climb into the back. He sits directly in the middle, and waits for her to join him. She climbs into the back, and he’s expecting her to straddle him again but she doesn’t. She sinks down to the floor, and his heart stops. 

“What are you doing?” His voice cracks on the last word.

She snorts because she knows that he knows exactly what's about to happen. “It’s a surprise.” The sarcasm in her voice is evident. 

She unbuttons his khakis. Then she unzips them, and Stiles is cataloguing every action because he never wants to forget this, ever. She taps his hip, and he raises them and down come his pants and boxers. She gets them down to his knees and stops. 

And then her hands are on him, “Oh fuck…” What the hell is this girl doing to him? All she’s done is touch him. She’s got one hand running up and down his torso, and the other is doing sinfully beautiful things to his dick. She’s pumping him nice and slow, and he wants to tell her to go faster, but without any lubrication she won’t. Plus, this is making him feel so fucking good, this slow and steady pace she has going. 

He’s losing himself in it, perfectly content to have her hand on him, and then she goes and puts her perfect, pretty mouth right over the tip of him, and he lets out a grunt that comes from somewhere deep in his chest, and his hips jerk up. 

“Shit! I’m sorry Lydia… just… oh holy hell.. you gotta.. got..ta warn me next time… Oh shit.” He's trying for coherent words, but he can’t articulate them because she’s sucking on the tip, running her tongue over the head in just the right way. She moves down farther, taking more of him into her mouth until he's touching the back of her throat. Her nails are running up and down his torso just adding to the sensation. His knuckles are white, they’re gripping the edge of the seat so hard. 

"You...you have to stop... I’m gonna come.” She sucks harder, swallows around him once. “Jesus fuck, you want me to?” She nods as best as she can. “Okay, okay. Yeah. Oh yeah. Take it so good then Lydia. Just like that. Fuck.” She pulls back to the tip, and does that heavenly thing with her tongue again, pumping him with her hand, and he's fucking gone. 

She takes him just like she said she would. She crawls up and into his lap. He kisses her, licking into her mouth.

“You didn't have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” 

“Why?”

“I wanted to make you feel good. I wanted you to forget for awhile.” 

What she doesn’t say, but he understands is this;

I wanted to heal you.

So he says, “I want to heal you too.”

And she says, “You do.”

\--------------

 

“Stiles I am not eating a kale salad. I put up with the brussel sprouts, and the veggie burgers. Hell, I let you buy me bran cereal. I am not eating a kale salad.” His dad is standing in their kitchen with his arms crossed, giving Stiles the “I mean business” look.

“Dad it’s good for you, and it doesn’t even taste that different than lettuce.” He says the last part quickly because it’s a lie, and while he can lie to his dad about supernatural shit, and his whereabouts when dealing with said supernatural shit, he cannot lie about the taste of kale. What the hell. 

“Uh huh. Then you eat it.” His dad says, and he knows he’s got Stiles because quite frankly, Stiles is never going near kale again because his jaw should not hurt while eating leaves. Thinking about it, he distinctly remembers saying as such. 

“I’m not the one with elevated blood pressure, and cholesterol problems.” He shoots back.

“If my blood pressure is elevated it’s because my son was literally wiped from my memory, and the events of the last two years prior to that. And my cholesterol is not a problem. The problem is said wiped from memory son trying to get me to eat kale.” The sheriff uncrosses his arms and leans forward on the kitchen island where the offensive vegetable is sitting.

“Dad… I’m trying to take care of you…” Stiles says with conviction. His dad is going to eat the kale dammit.

“Stiles…” the sheriff sighs. This is a conversation they've had so many times before. “You take care of me when you wake up in the morning. You take care of me when you make it home from school in one piece. You take care of me when you bring me dinner, and then sit with me at the station for awhile. You take care of me when we sit and watch baseball together. You take care of me by just being my son. That’s all I need. Now, I understand that you are part of something bigger than yourself, and there will be times when you’re in danger because you refuse to stay out of the fight. But when I get normal moments with you, that’s the best way to take care of me.”

“I can’t give you normal, dad… I’m not normal. I’m not even whole.” He whispers.

“You spend a lot of time worrying about taking care of me, but you’re doing it everyday and you don’t really see that. How about you let me take care of you for a change? I can’t guarantee that you will ever feel whole again. There are pieces of yourself you won’t get back. There’s a darkness around you that might never completely fade away. Don’t face that alone. Lean on your family, and the burden gets a little lighter. Lean on me Stiles, and we’ll find a way. We’ll take care of each other okay?”

Stiles nods. He leans into his dad, and the darkness ebbs a little bit. 

\----------------

It’s Saturday afternoon, and Stiles is knocking on the front door of the McCall house. 

“Scott! Open up!” But he doesn’t, and now Stiles is starting to worry because Scott always opens the door before Stiles even reaches the front porch. 

He tries the knob and finds the door is unlocked, and now he’s reaching panic levels. He goes into the house, and starts calling out Scotts name.

“Dude where the fuck are you?!” 

“In here…” Stiles turns to his left and there is Scott McCall sitting in the middle of his living room floor, crying.

Stiles walks over and sees a faded picture of him and Allison that they took at the skate rink two years ago.

“Scott. What happened?” Scott just shakes his head. “Come on dude. Talk to me. It’s time.” Scott’s been avoiding his feelings for long enough. 

Scott sighs heavily, looking up. There are tears running down his face, and his eyes are red rimmed. He sniffs, “I just found it. It was buried underneath some books in my room, and I was moving stuff around and I just found it, and then I started crying because I miss her. I thought I would’ve stopped by now so I came down here to wait for you, but then I started crying harder because she’s dead, and I still can’t wrap my head around that. And then I started crying even harder because I miss Kira, and I feel guilty for missing Allison. But I can’t get over her death because I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t even take her pain. I couldn’t save you either.” His voice is cracking all over the place, and the tears are still running.

Stiles has to take a second to steady himself before answering. “Scott… You can’t do this. You can’t feel guilty for her death. She was a warrior. You couldn’t take her pain because there was no pain to take. And it’s okay that you haven't figured out how to deal with the fact that she’s gone. We haven't really had time to let ourselves grieve. You can miss her and miss Kira. You gotta stop beating yourself up, man. I don’t blame you. I’m here. You haven’t failed anyone.”

“How? How do I stop feeling guilty? It’s like no matter what, I’m wrong. It’s like no matter what I can’t stop feeling like I didn't do enough. If I had done more she’d be alive and we wouldn't have had to rescue you in the first place.” He voice doesn’t crack, but it wavers. 

“I don’t know how. The guilt.. it eats me too. But… if you lean on your family, it might get a little easier. Let yourself grieve her, Scott. Let yourself grieve for all the pieces losing her took from you. You’re only human, and I do not blame you for that.”

Scott nods and then he’s leaning into Stiles. They sit like that for awhile, Scotts’ head on Stiles’ collarbone, and Stiles’ hand on his head. They breathe in sync and mourn the loss of Allison in a way they never got to. But they also mourn the loss of the people they used to be, the people they'd give anything to go back to.

They lean on each other.

\----------------

 

“I need you inside of me right now.” Lydia moans against his mouth. They’re on her bed, half naked. He’s three fingers deep in her, licking up her throat. Her shirt and bra are gone, along with his shirt. His pants are somewhere around his ankles, and her skirt is more of a belt at this point. 

"Yes, I want that too.” He says against the hollow of her neck. 

“Make it happen, Stiles.” He huffs out a laugh at that. 

“Bossy.” He kicks his pants off the rest of the way. He props himself up on one hand beside her head, and uses his other to slide her skirt off. He wants to see her, all of her, without anything blocking even an inch of her skin. 

She uses her feet to push his boxers down, and he kicks those off as well. She reaches for the condom on the beside table. He rips it open, and rolls it on. He lines himself up, the tip of him just brushing inside of her.

She’s about protest, but he grabs her chin and forces her to meet his eyes, and she stops mid sentence. He’s trying to convey through his eyes that this isn't about getting off. He’s trying to tell her that he trusts her with every part of his body, and along with that, his soul. When he doesn't even trust himself with those things, he trusts her. 

He’s trying to let her know that he’s going to worship her. That he’s going to love her, and that even though he’s shit at taking care of himself, he will excel at taking care of her. He’s willing her to understand that if she’s ready, he will take all she can give and guard it with his life. She does not have to hide from him.

She nods.

He pushes into her and they don’t break eye contact. They breathe in at the same time. They breathe out at the same time. He starts moving, and they touch foreheads, and he’s inhaling her exhale. And then he has to close his eyes because she’s so wet, and warm, and tight. She’s clenching and unclenching around him and he can’t believe how good it feels to have Lydia Martin wrapped around him. 

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” He says it over and over. And he hopes she’s understanding that he’s saying it because she’s taking away his pain, and his darkness. She’s letting him find solace in her. She’s letting him drown in her. She’s letting him take HER pain.

He starts to move a little faster. “I love you Lydia. I love you so fucking much. Oh my god… you’re so perfect. Let me love you, Lydia. Oh fuck I wanna love you for the rest of my life.” He can feel his orgasm starting up his spine, and he’s starting to see stars, because she’s just getting hotter and wetter, and she’s doing that thing with her nails on his back that hurts like a motherfucker in the morning, but feels like heaven right now. 

He thrusts into her one more time, his pelvic bone hitting her clit in just the right way, and she’s coming around him. She’s pulsing around him, and his eyes roll back into his head, and then he’s coming. And all he can hear is the blood rushing in his head, and her moans. 

They ride out their orgasms together, and when they’ve both relaxed a little, he pulls out. She curls into his side, and he feels a wetness against his chest.

“Hey, hey are you crying? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He starts panicking, which means he’s talking fast.

“No. No Stiles, you didn't hurt me.” She says into his chest.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“You make me feel whole.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” He asks. 

“No. Of course not. I just… I haven't felt whole in a really long time. There’s always pieces missing, or someone leaves. But here you are thanking me for having sex with you, telling me you love me. And I felt it. I felt it all click into place. I’ve known for awhile that I love you, but I was still nervous because good things seem to get ripped away from us, so I never really opened up. But tonight, this, it made me feel like I really belonged somewhere. Like I’m not just wandering around trying to find a place that isn't ravaged by death or by hate. You’re my home, Stiles. I found you, and I can’t lose you.”

"Lydia you aren't going to lose me.” He’s pretty adamant about that.

“I have so much pain inside of me Stiles. And anger. I don’t know where to put it. I don’t want to burden you with that.” She’s crying again.

“You aren’t a burden. Let me help you. Let me take your pain however I can, whenever I can. Throw your anger into me. Let me be your home, Lydia.” He says into her hair.

“We will heal together?”

“We will heal together.”

\-----------------------

“You can do this. I’m right here.” 

Scott and Stiles are standing 10 feet from Allison’s grave, and have been for 10 minutes because Scott can’t move. 

“I haven’t been here since her funeral.” There’s guilt, and some self-loathing laced into that sentence.

“You’re here now.” Stiles says, and gently nudges Scott forward.

Scott eventually reaches Allison’s grave, and Stiles walks away to find his mom to say hi while Scott finds some peace.

20 minutes later, Scott finds Stiles sitting on the hood of the jeep.

“Who are you texting?”

“Lydia.”

“You guys are pretty serious now, huh?”

“I would say so.”

They smile at each other.

“Have you been out here since her funeral?”

“Yes.” He sees the look of surprise flit across Scott’s face. He sighs. “I came out here 3 weeks after she died and just kind of broke down. Like hysterical sobbing on her grave. Then I came out here again after we rescued you from Mexico. The last time was after I killed Donavan…” 

Scott just looks up him, patience is evident in his features. He’s waiting for Stiles to explain.

“I had to face her. I’m sorry I took her from you. I’m sorry I’m such a liability. I’m just really fucking sorry, Scott.” He doesn’t elaborate further. He isn't sure he could explain it correctly, and he doesn’t want to diminish it by tripping over his words.

Scott turns to face him with nothing but empathy written across his face.

“You didn’t take her from me, Stiles, and you’re healing like the rest of us. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. I wouldn’t give you up for anything. You aren’t a liability, you’re essential, and I’ll never stop needing you.” Stiles looks away because he’s sure he’s going to cry if he doesn’t.

“I think I’ll always need you too, Scott. Thank you.” He looks at Scott briefly, and Scott nods at him.

Then he continues. “Sometimes I feel like I can't face this, face the lives that we have. Sometimes I want to run away and leave this place behind. But it’s home, and I would miss it too much to never come back.” Stiles gets that. “We hadn't had a chance to heal in such a long time. And now, saying all the things I’ve been saying out loud, facing them head on, it finally feels like I can breathe again. Like maybe I’ll fit some of the pieces back together again.”

“You will buddy. Just takes time.” He pats Scott on the back once. There’s an ease to Scott that he hasn't seen in a long time. 

“So will you. I promise.We’ll lean on each other.” Scott returns the pat, and Stiles feels like maybe Scott is right. 

\--------------

 

“Lydia for the love of God you have been in the bathroom for like 20 minutes now. We’re just going to the movies.” He knows that it’s futile to say this because she’s Lydia, and she takes her time. He thinks she could go out in sweats and a hoodie and still be stunning, but he knows that she likes the minutiae and routine of getting dressed up, that it makes her feel good. 

He still has to give her a hard time. Just like she gives him a hard time about his flannels even though she sleeps in one every night. 

“I will scream and you will be deaf for the rest of the night if you don’t stop bothering me!” She calls from the bathroom. 

He lays back on her bed, and starts humming Can’t Stop The Feeling, by Justin Timberlake. It’s catchy. He’s glad Lydia can’t hear him because she’d never let him live down the fact that he actually knows how the song goes. He snorts to himself. She’s such a classical music nerd.

He’s just about to hit the second chorus when she comes out of the bathroom. 

“Okay we can go.” She sounds excited, and that makes his heart soar a little bit.

“Lydia we’re about to go on a date. An actual, normal date. With like shitty popcorn, and back of the theater make outs.” He can’t stop the smile on his face. 

She’s beaming right back at him, “I know. It feels strange.”

“I’m glad we got here Lydia. I’m glad that I got here with you.” He reaches out his hand for her. She moves forward and takes it, stepping in between his legs.

“Something tells me you weren't going to have it any other way.” She quirks an eyebrow at him, a smile playing at the edge of her lips.

He smiles up at her. “You know it.” She smiles back and then leans down to kiss him gently.

“I hate to say this, but you’re growing on me.” She teases.

“I should hope so, I let you have my side of the bed.” He’s got his arms around her waist, and hers are around his neck.

“It wasn't your side of the bed until I came along and wanted it.”

“I’ve literally been sleeping on that side since I was 8.”

“We both know you sleep in the middle. Do not try to talk me into giving up my side of the bed.”

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

“No.” she starts to move away from him.

“What if we flip for it?” He’s holding her wrist to keep her from going anywhere.

“Not a chance. Pun intended.” She isn't even looking at him. She’s checking her nails.

“Then how about switching off?”

"Do you think candy or popcorn at the movie?”

“Lydia…” he groans out like the 5 year he really is.

“Definitely candy. As you so astutely pointed out, the popcorn is shitty.” She removes her wrist from his grip and starts walking towards her bedroom door.

"Hey Lyd?" She stops and turns back. “I love you.”

“I love you too. But you still aren’t getting my side of the bed!” She calls as she heads for the stairs.

“Oh come on! Dammit.” He huffs. 

He gets up and follows her out to the jeep. 

As they’re driving to the movies, holding hands over the console, he can’t help but think about how far they’ve come. How he never thought he would make it this far. How he never thought that his pack would make it this far.

Not all of them have made it, and they’re still healing. But the end doesn’t seem so far, the mornings aren’t as daunting.

And here in his jeep with Lydia, he thinks maybe okay isn't a destination, but something you have to find in your family, and the people you love. Despite all trauma, he’s happy and the realization shakes him a little. Happy isn't a word that he would have ever included in his description of himself. But he is. 

"Are you happy Lydia?” He has to ask. He wants her to feel what he's feeling right now.

She looks over at him, and there's an understanding in her eyes. “Right now, in this moment, yes.” He nods. That’s all he can hope for. And he makes a promise to himself that he’s going to continue to give Lydia happy moments as often as he can for the rest of his life. 

“Me too.” He replies. 

“We heal together?” She asks.

“We heal together.” He affirms.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm impvlsivee on Tumblr(:


End file.
